A Rite of Swords

by Morgan Rice

  They both looked down at Thor with respect, and indeed, Thor noticed everyone looking at him differently since his return.

  “Please do,” Thor said, always one to be gracious and hospitable. He slid over and made room; they came and sat beside him.

  They nodded in greeting at the other Legion in the circle, who nodded back. After so much time spent together with Reece, Elden, O’Connor, and Conven, it felt a bit odd to see their group expand, especially after the loss of Conval. But it felt good, too. After all, they were all Legion, and they all needed to stick together—especially until the Legion could be replenished with a new crop of warriors.

  Serna and Krog’s eyes fell to the Destiny Sword at his belt, and they looked at Thor as if he were a god.

  “Is it heavy?” Serna asked.

  The others all turned and looked at Thor, as all eyes fell to the Destiny Sword. It was the first time he had been asked about it, and he was not quite sure how to respond. He hadn’t really thought about it that much—it had just felt natural.

  Thor shook his head.

  “Actually, it is lighter than my other swords,” Thor replied. “It feels weightless.”

  “But twenty men could not wield it,” Krog said. “It is heavy. It is just not heavy in your hands.”

  “That is because you are the one meant to wield it,” Kendrick added.

  Thor shrugged.

  “I don’t know why,” Thor answered humbly. “It is as much a mystery to me as to anyone else.”

  “It is because you carry a great destiny,” Aberthol said, leaning forward from across the fire, face aglow in the flames.

  “What destiny is that?” Thor asked, eager to understand more.

  Aberthol shook his head.

  “No one knows,” he said. “The Sword has been written and sung about for seven generations of MacGil Kings, but the truth is, no one really knows its origin, or what it means. All that is known is that it maintains the Shield. And that you’re the only one in recorded history, of all the generations, of all the kings, to have wielded it.”

  The group stared at Thor in awe, and he felt self-conscious. He did not savor all the attention.

  “All I have done is try to serve the Ring,” Thor replied.

  “And you have served it well, indeed, my friend,” Kendrick said, reaching over and clasping a hand on his shoulder.

  “I am not done yet,” Thor said. “Not while Andronicus remains. Tomorrow, as the sun breaks, I shall fly Mycoples and wield the Sword, and battle whatever remains of Andronicus’ army. I shall not give him time to regroup and escape on his ships.”

  “And we shall join you,” Kendrick chimed in.

  “We may not be as fast as you,” Atme added, “or as powerful as Mycoples. But we have men, and we have swords, and we will kill whomever we can.”

  Thor nodded.

  “Then I shall welcome your accompaniment,” Thor said.

  “And when it’s done?” O’Connor chimed in. “What shall we do when there are no more wars left to wage?”

  “Rebuild,” Gwendolyn said.

  They all looked to her with respect.

  “King’s Court will be resurrected,” she added. “It will stand and shine once again.”

  “And Silesia,” Srog chimed in.

  “We shall rebuild the Legion, too,” Brom said.

  “I, for one, shall welcome a rest from battle,” Elden said. “We have not stopped battling since we crossed the Canyon. I will return to my hometown and see if my father is alive. Maybe help rebuild his home there.”

  He turned to Indra, sitting beside him.

  “I hope you will join me,” he added.

  She just shrugged.

  “Domestic life is not for me,” she said. “I would rather be waging battle.”

  Elden looked disappointed.

  Kendrick turned to Sandara, who sat beside him, staring into the flames with her perfect posture, so noble. Of the Empire race, she seemed so foreign to the group.

  “I hope that you shall stay with me here,” Kendrick said softly to her.

  She glanced over at Kendrick, then looked away.

  “I do not deserve the honor, my Lord,” she replied.

  “You do, more than anyone,” Kendrick replied. “You saved all of our lives. Stay with me, and you shall have a life fit for a queen.”

  “I am but a simple slave girl, indentured to Andronicus,” she replied.

  “Indentured no more,” Kendrick corrected. “You are free now. Your home is here, within the Ring. If you choose.”

  She lowered her eyes.

  “I have witnessed Andronicus’ men wreak devastation on many peoples, many lands,” she said. “I will only be free when I see him dead. Until that day, I am still a slave. I fear he will return here.”

  “Never,” Kendrick insisted.

  “You heard Thor,” Reece added. “Andronicus will be crushed tomorrow.”

  But Sandara did not seem convinced, and a heavy silence fell over the group.

  “There are others who I wish would return here,” Gwendolyn said. “Steffen is missing. He helped give me safe passage to the Tower of Refuge, and I have not seen him since.”

  “We shall send out a party for him,” Kendrick said. “We shall find him and bring him back.”

  “Argon, too,” Gwen added. “He risked his life for me, and now he has paid the price. He is gone, and I do not know where—or if he shall ever return.”

  Thor thought of that, and it pained him. He missed Argon terribly, and he wanted see him, to ask about the Sword, to ask about his destiny—and most of all, to ask about his father. Thor thought he could almost hear Argon, faintly in the back of his mind, in glimpses in his dreams; yet he seemed farther away than ever. Thor wondered where he was now, if he was trapped, if he would ever come back again. He felt orphaned without him.

  Gwendolyn leaned in, and Thor held her shoulder tight; he looked over into her crystal eyes, glowing in the firelight, and leaned in and kissed her. He felt alive in that kiss. As he held it, his heart pounded with anticipation. He felt the ring burning in his pocket, and more than ever, he wanted to ask her, to give it to her.

  But first, he knew, he had to tell her. She had to know about the monster he hailed from. The more he thought about it, the more he began to tremble.

  “You’re shaking,” Gwen said.

  “I’m just cold,” Thor lied.

  She smiled, leaned in and whispered in his ear: “Then follow me.”

  She got up wordlessly, and Thor took her hand and allowed himself to be led into the black night, between the fires, anywhere Gwen would take him.

  *

  Thor and Gwendolyn entered the ancient halls of Srog’s castle in Upper Silesia, guards stiffening to attention as they passed down corridors lit by torchlight. They walked hand in hand, Gwen leading them as they twisted and turned down one hall then the next, up a flight of steps, until finally an attendant opened the door to the guest chamber.

  As they stepped inside, Thor looked up at the ancient arched ceilings, all stone, at the roaring fire in the huge marble fireplace, at the massive four-poster bed, at the torchlight along the walls, and he was grateful to Srog for his hospitality. They had been given a room fit for a King and Queen. Of course, Gwendolyn was Queen, but Thor did not feel entitled to any of this. In his mind, he was still just a boy from another small village on the periphery of the Ring.

  Walking into a room like this, though, made him feel like a king. He had always envisioned bigger things for himself; but now that they were here, before his eyes, he could hardly believe it. This all didn’t seem real. Here he was, with Gwendolyn, the Queen, wielding the Destiny Sword, with his own dragon waiting for him in the castle grounds. He had managed not just to join the Legion, but to become the head of it; he had not just earned the respect of the Silver, but had become the one they looked up to most. He had dreamed big for himself, but never that big. And now that it was all here, it was hard to proces
s. He still expected someone to wake him up and tell him he was dreaming.

  As Gwendolyn took his hand, her soft, smooth skin warm in his palm, he knew this was real; he felt as if it were the first time he had ever touched her. And as he held her, he realized his joy had nothing to do with this room or this castle or any of it—it was all about Gwendolyn’s love. As surreal as everything else felt, her love, and his love for her, felt natural to him. It grounded him.

  As they approached the pile of furs before the fireplace, Gwendolyn leading him with a smile, Thor found himself feeling nervous, as if it were the first time he had ever been with her. They had been apart for so long, and so much time and distance had grown between them, in a way it was like meeting her again for the first time. He felt a fluttering in his stomach, and the old fear of saying the wrong thing.

  Thor thought back and remembered when he’d first met her, how tongue-tied he had been; in a strange way, a part of him was feeling that way again now. He had to admit, he was still intimidated by her beauty, by her charm, by her graciousness—by everything about her. He could not help but feel she was of a greater class than he, that she was so much greater than he would ever be.

  As they lay down together, Gwen leaned in and kissed Thor, and he kissed her back. They held the kiss for a long time, the fire crackling beside them, Thor feeling the heat of it on his face. He took her into his arms, and the two of them lay side-by-side on the furs.

  Gwendolyn smiled over at him, and he felt his entire world restored in that smile.

  Yet Thor was still nervous, for another reason. As Gwendolyn looked into his eyes, he wondered if somehow she recognized who his father was. He blinked and looked away, self-conscious, and hoped not. He knew his thoughts were foolish, that it was impossible, yet still, it plagued him. He had to get it off his chest, to tell her. At the same time, he didn’t want to ruin the moment.

  Gwen looked away, and Thor sensed there was something she wanted to tell him, too. He was not quite sure what it was, but he knew her well enough to know there was something she was withholding. He could see it in the slight tremble in her lip. It made him wonder. Did she know of his father? Or was it something else?

  As he studied her, he could not imagine the horrors she had endured at the hand of Andronicus. Yet here she was, still happy, smiling. He admired her more than he could say. She was stronger than him—stronger than all of them.

  “What’s wrong?” Gwendolyn finally asked. “You seem quiet.”

  Thor shook his head. He was afraid to speak, afraid to tell her. He knew he had to, but he just could not summon the courage. He was too ashamed.

  “I…I…just miss you,” he stammered.

  It was true, he had missed her; but it was not what was on the forefront of his mind.

  “I missed you, too,” she smiled back. “It felt like you were away for a lifetime. You don’t seem like the same boy that left. You seem more like…a man,” she smiled.

  Thor understood. He felt older himself. Much, much older.

  “The Empire…” he began, then stopped. “It was so foreign…everything about it so different, so exotic… The things I’ve seen…” he trailed off.

  She took his hand and brought it to her lips.

  “Another time,” she said softly. “There will always be wars and battles, but now is our time. It seems to be a very rare thing. Let us cherish it. Now is the time for us.”

  Thor felt his heart swell at her words. She leaned in, and they kissed again. She held him tight, and he held her back tighter, and they rolled on the furs, the lights flickering in this beautiful chamber.

  He let himself go. All the worries of the world began to fade from his mind. Everything else slipped away, and he thought of nothing but Gwendolyn. Of their love. He had found a place in the world.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Luanda rode through the night, Bronson beside her, galloping down the dark roads leading out of Silesia and heading east, towards the Highlands. Luanda had never thought she’d find herself heading back in this direction. When she had fled the McClouds that day, she had vowed to never return, vowed to live and die the rest of her life on the MacGil side.

  But things had changed, beyond what she could have foreseen. With her father dead and Gwendolyn in power, Andronicus’ invasion had altered her life in a way she had never expected. There was clearly no place for her anymore on the MacGil side of the Ring, no spot for her to rule, no way for her not to have to answer to her little sister. She hadn’t been born first to answer to her. It wasn’t fair. If a queenship would not be given to her, then Luanda would have to take one for her own.

  Luanda screamed and kicked her horse, and they raced deeper into the night, Bronson riding reluctantly at her side a few feet behind. She recalled their argument, before they had left Silesia. Bronson had always been so innocent, so gullible; ironic, considering his father was such a manipulative monster. She had needed Bronson to come along with her, so she had fed him a lie, and he had bought it. After that disastrous meeting with her mother, she had lied to Bronson, had told him that her mother had asked her to broker a truce, to be the one to approach Andronicus with an offer for surrender. That a truce would spare the lives of thousands of men and hasten Andronicus’ departure. And that Luanda, being a member of the royal family yet not holding any official position, would be the perfect person to make the offer.

  Bronson had looked back at her, puzzled, not knowing Luanda to be so selfless. He had bought it, and had agreed to accompany her, thinking it was for a good cause. He had suggested they take a group of soldiers to accompany them, but Luanda had refused, insisting they go alone. She could not have any MacGil soldiers around her with what she was about to do.

  As they navigated their horses through the narrow mountain pass leading up the Highlands, they crested a peak and Luanda saw in the distance the lights from thousands of torches, representing what could only be Andronicus’ camp. The sight gave her pause. Her plan was a desperate one, she knew, but once she formulated a plan, she stuck to it, no matter what. She would find Andronicus and cut a deal: she would deliver Thor into his lap, and in return, he would make her queen of all the Ring. It was a deal, she knew, he would not refuse.

  Luanda’s eyes flashed as she kicked her horse and charged down the steep mountain slope, racing down into the McCloud side of the Ring, bearing down on Andronicus’ camp. Bronson, ignorant of her scheme, rode along beside her, still thinking he was going to broker a peace deal for Gwendolyn. Bronson could be useful, if she used him in the right way. She knew that when he found out he would be upset—but by then it would be too late. She would be Queen, and he would have no choice but to go along with her. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter how she got there. All that mattered was that she became Queen.

  As the two of them entered the Empire camp, the road narrowed and took them into the thick of the camp of soldiers. It was tense here, torchlight on either side of them, Empire soldiers staring them down. Luanda could feel the uneasiness in the air and knew this would be the trickiest part. She had to convince them to bring them to bring her to Andronicus; she had to command them with all the authority she could muster—or else risk being captured by the enemy.

  “I don’t know that this is a good idea,” Bronson said beside her. She could hear fear in his voice as they headed deeper into the Empire camp.

  “Andronicus may kill us—even if we are offering him a peace deal. Maybe we should turn back.”

  Luanda ignored him and rode deeper into the thick of the camp, toward the brightest glow in the center, the largest tent, which she knew could only be Andronicus’.

  Suddenly, several Empire officers blocked their way, forcing their horses to a stop. She turned and saw they were barred from behind, too.

  Luanda faced the officers before her, and looked down at them with her haughtiest look. After all, she was the firstborn daughter of a king, and she knew how to appear regal.

  “Bring us to Andronicu
s,” she commanded. “We bring him an offer of surrender.”

  Luanda phrased her words in a deliberately ambiguous way, so they would not know whose surrender was being offered—and so that Bronson would not know, either.

  The Empire officers exchanged a puzzled glance with each other, then looked up at her; she could see from their expressions that her haughty, aristocratic manner was working, throwing them off guard.

  They finally parted, grabbed the reins of her horses, and led them at a walk toward a huge tent. Andronicus’ tent.

  The officers forced Luanda and Bronson to dismount, then led them on foot. The torches burned even brighter here, the crowd grew thicker, and a banner flapped in the cold night air with an enormous emblem on it, a lion with an eagle in its mouth. Luanda’s heart pounded as they approached the tent, realizing that now she was at their mercy. She prayed her scheme worked.

  They were stopped a few feet away from the tent when the flap opened and out came the largest and most vicious creature on two legs Luanda had ever set eyes upon. She spotted the shrunken heads on his necklace, saw his horns, saw the menacing way he bore himself, and knew without a doubt this was the Great Andronicus.

  Despite herself, as she looked up at him, she gasped.

  Andronicus smiled down at both of them, as if objects of prey had landed in his lap.

  Luanda swallowed, and suddenly wondered if this had been a very bad idea.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Thorgrin stood atop the highest knoll of the low country of the Western Kingdom of the Ring, looking out at the road, as he always had since he was a boy, waiting for the King’s men to arrive. He watched the road, sparkling in the morning mist, and had a sweeping view of his hometown, sitting there, looking as it always had. Except this time, as he looked closer, he saw it was abandoned. It appeared as if he were the only one left in the world.

  Thor looked back to the road, and there came a great rumbling, as there appeared a dozen horse-drawn carriages, all made of a burnished gold, glistening in the sun. They galloped his way. The sound grew louder, clouds of dust rising, and his heart beat quicker as he raced down the hill to greet them.